Two shards of the same sword
by Crazycatscarmen
Summary: Another Abbyswanscullen request! Come on in for...pain. This will be updated...hopefully soon...so why not have these plot builders? This story is of death, the strength of family, some inter-dimensional traveling...and a Gravity Falls worthy family reunion. (I'M SORRY I'VE BEEN GONE SO LONG FORGIVE ME! LOVE YOU GUYS DON'T DIE!) Tw: Major Character death, bad parents, etc.
1. Hey how're you?

Large, rough fingers slid over the glass. If he stared long enough, he could see it in his mind. The smile. The laugh. He could hear the loud stories and happy chatter. He could imagine it all.

Filbrick placed the frame back down. Stanley's glowing smile beaming at him as he ran a tired hand over his eyes.

You could ask anyone who had ever met him, Filbrick was not an emotional man. But that didn't mean they weren't there, brewing beneath a surface of stone. He had been taught, from a young age, that showing emotion was weak. That it made you vulnerable.

Life had never been easy for him. He grew up under his father's shadow, his mother dead. It turned him into a hard man. With a harsh outlook on the world. Yet nothing...nothing had prepared him for the pure agony he felt as he watched his son get lowered into the ground.

He wasn't expecting it when it got worse.

Filbrick watched as Stanford mourned the loss of his twin. He saw the pain, settled over his son's face like a shadow. He held his wife as she cried, heaving, ugly sobs he had hoped to never witness.

Each time they frowned, each time they searched for silent comfort, Filbrick was there. Although it wasn't always hugs and tissue paper, he did his best to help.

A gloom had fallen over the Pines household. Stanford had come over for the funeral and hadn't left since. Filbrick wasn't bothered enough to mention it. Even if Stanford was ready to leave, his wife, Gigi, certainly wasn't ready to let him go.

He wondered if that was wise. Having someone who looked so much like the one they'd lost...it couldn't be healthy. He determined that if she slipped and called Stanford Stanley then Stanford should go.

Fortunately, it hadn't happened yet. So for the time being, all he could do to hold them all together.

Filbrick was wiser than his own father, he knew that Stanley's death was on his head.

He sighed as he rose from his seat. Leaving the picture frame behind him. He only glanced back for a moment before leaving the room.

 _I wasn't good enough for you...son._


	2. I'm dead

In his defense, if he had known the portal would lead to the destruction of his dimension, he wouldn't have built it.

"Fiddleford! Where are you going!? What are you doing with that briefcase? Fiddleford!"

Fiddleford glanced back at him, slowing his pace for a moment, only to shake his head. Stanford darted after him, eyes wild with fear. "Please! Don't leave! I can't do this without-"

"I can't do it anymore, Stanferd! Lemme leave in peace!"

Slamming the door behind him, Fiddleford jumped into his truck, cursing when the engine stalled. Yet, by the time Stanford managed to unstick the door, Fiddleford was gone, dust floating in his wake.

"You..." Stanford finished, panting with the surprise exertion.

He kicked at the dirt, ripping off his glasses when the dust began smudging the lenses. How could Fiddleford do this to him!? Just when he had realized that Fiddleford had been right all along, the man up and leaves!? What backward logic was that?

He stilled, staring up at the horizon. Without his glasses, it was nearly impossible to see farther than his own nose. The colors blurred, the air swimming in front of his eyes. He sighed and turned on his heels to walk back inside. He shut the door carefully, to keep it from sticking again.

Fiddleford...was gone. The thought ran through his mind over and over again, the words resonating within him strangely. He flew up the staircase toward his study as he tried to let it sink in.

It hadn't been so hard to believe when Stanley drove away.

Stanford cursed mentally at the thought as he reached his study's door. Pushing it open, he swallowed away the lump in his throat and instead focused on the search for his lens cleaner. Normally he wouldn't bother with it, but his glasses had become impossible to see out of.

His hand grasped at air for a moment before finding the bottle. The original cloth long lost, he pulled at the loose fabric on the end of his sweater, using it to rub at the lenses.

A second later and he placed the frames back into place, breathing a sigh of relief as his sight returned. Just at the last of the air left his lungs, he began shivering. His brows furrowed. Shivering? It wasn't cold...?

His mouth gaped when his chest tightened and the lump returned. His eyes started watering...Stanford blinked with a realization.

He was crying.

The feeling was...strange. Foreign. Not a tear had left him since...

Stanford shook his head. He couldn't dwell on the past,

Fiddleford was gone.

He was alone.

He needed help.

Stanford took in a deep breathe, soothing away the tremors. He needed to focus. Who could he go to? If Stanley hadn't-

 _Why can't I just accept he's gone?_

Stanford cleared his throat and rubbed at his head.

 _Who can I trust?_

No one but Fiddleford had known about his work. Not even the workers who helped build the thing. Fiddleford's morally ambiguous memory gun took care of that.

He was getting a headache. Stanford didn't _trust people._ People weren't trust _worthy._

 _Think! Who do you know that hates the government enough not to report me and get me arrested?_

Stanford's breathing rapidly evened out as an answer came to him. Despite his reservations, his mouth twitched upward.

There's never a bad time for a family reunion, right?


	3. How's death you ask? Fine, he's fi- SHHH

**Hey weirdos! How're ya? I'm just chillin'...being weird. Screaming mentally. DrOWnINg. Heh, on with the story:  
**

* * *

It had been a brief phone call.

Filbrick had been sleeping off a long day of work. The customers had been insufferable. Rude even. Although his work wasn't physically exerting, the mental and emotional stress of dealing with morons left him exhausted. {They aren't all stupid, of course. Just...today.}

So when the phone began to ring, he was...frustrated. Who wouldn't be?

He grunted as he picked up the phone, "What?"

" _Pa?"_

Filbrick jumped, nearly dropping the phone. Stanford hadn't called in years! He cleared his throat, bringing the phone back to his ear.

"Stanford, is that you?"

" _Yes. Pa I need- I need your help."_

Filbrick's brows furrowed and he growled. "Why? What have you gotten yourself into?"

This didn't make sense.

Stanford didn't ask for help.

Stanford didn't call.

Stanford didn't-

" _Please, Pa."_

He stiffened.

Stanford _didn't_ say _please._ Filbrick's jaw clenched.

"I'm coming. Goodbye, son."

" _Bring a hammer."_

The phone clicked off and Filbrick stared at it as he placed it in the receiver. He sighed.

How cold did it get in Oregon?

* * *

 **Heyo. So I guess the "Style," of this story is sorta...minimal? Like... You guys see what's happening, right? I trust ya'lls brains. Just tell me if it don't make sense.**

 **Ford: The story is fine, but that sentence was hard to look at.**

 **Stan: Hey! Rude.**

 **Fiddleford: What're ya sayin', _Stanferd?_**

 **Ford *swallows*: Nevermind.**


End file.
